Some things have a hard life. They get scratched and worn, but it somehow suits them.
My little drummer monkey is one of those things.
He is German, made by Schuco, and belonged, once upon a time, to my Nanna, who was born in 1897 and died twenty-five years ago this year. I’m not sure how old monkey himself is, but I think he must have been bought for my dad.
When I and my sister were small, we were forbidden to touch him in case we overwound him or lost his key, despite the fact that he was pretty battered even then.
We were allowed to watch him drum now and again.
Being good girls, we didn’t sneak into Nanna’s room when she wasn’t there to wind him up, nor did we borrow him.
Well, hardly ever.
His face is a bit sad, but then it always has been.
His key was not lost, nor was he overwound.
So here he is, doing his thing. Take it away little drummer monkey. Now is your big moment.